Burning Axis
by rainbowishprincess
Summary: He pushed into Kaitlin, but to him, it was Marissa who cried out. She was a cheap replacement for Marissa. They both knew this. Neither of them stopped. Kaitlin and Trey meet at Marissa's grave and she goes back to Vegas with him. future fic. two parter.
1. part one: ignite

**Author's Note:** So the idea for this fic came to be one day and it was... well, _sudden_. But it gripped me and refused to let go til I wrote it. It's a future fic, where Kaitlin is about 19 and Trey 26. I figured if he turned 21 in season 2 and she turned 15 in season three, that was approximately their ages. In my mind, Trey loved Marissa. That's how I choose to see it. And in this fic, the knowledge of her death spurned a sort of... addiction, that you'll see more so in part **two**. Yes, this is a two-parter. Part two is already written, however, not edited. I'll have it posted within the next few days. And yes, I know... Trey/Kaitlin, how random, right? Well, unconventional couples are great, so nyah! So hopefully you guys enjoy, review and all that good stuff. Love you long time!

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, duh.

* * *

"This is some pretty fucked up shit, Marissa. You being dead and all."

His opening line. It was usually some variation of that anyway. Last year it had been, "I still can't believe you're dead, Marissa. That's fucked." This was his fourth visit to Marissa's grave since he had heard the news. He always did so in an obscure manner, in the middle of the night where he could be certain he wouldn't run into her family or God forbid, Ryan. He could just imagine what that would be like: horrible. Ryan would not understand. Ryan would be angry.

Ryan had never called Trey to tell him about Marissa's death.

Trey had never called Ryan to say he was sorry because he knew what Ryan would say. "Sorry for what? For attacking her all those years ago and totally screwing her up? For trying to kill me? Or for my loss?" And it would be cutting and cruel and Trey would shudder and yell and he'd deserve every moment of it. He was not able to look at Ryan anymore and he hadn't for about 5 years. He couldn't. Ryan deserved so much better and that wasn't just Trey trying to be all modest and angsty, it was him being truthful and trying to do what was best for his brother. He'd looked out for him, he'd fucked him up and in the end, he'd stayed away and let Ryan sift through the ruins of the damage. Maybe it was the irresponsible thing to do but it had been done and there's no way he'd bring all that history to the surface again. It had sucked enough the first time.

It always hit him that he'd done the same thing to Marissa too. Cared for her, screwed her over and fled. It was like a trademark.

Sometimes a fleeting thought passed through. If he'd never come to Newport, never tried to rape her, had never forced her to shoot him... would she still be alive?

He always instantly dismissed the thought, however. He wasn't God. He wouldn't give himself that much credit.

But despite the fact that he dismisses the thought and tells himself this, he still isn't sure. He would just rather not drive himself crazy with the wondering.

* * *

Jess had been the one to break the news to him and she did so with a smirk. Why? Because that's the kind of bitch she had become. 

"Your precious little Marissa–"

"What?" His tone was sharp.

"She died last week, Trey."

"No." No thinking involved. Just a straight out 'no'.

"Are you like, actually saying no? Uh, yeah, she did. I went to the goddamn service. Pretty much everyone in my town did. It was kind of sad, but I got to talk to your brother again. I still wonder what he'd be like in bed."

"You're fucking sick, Jess," Trey spat and in that moment he wasn't sure he was capable of loathing anyone more, not the guys who screwed him up in prison, not even his Dad. His fists curled up into balls and only sheer willpower kept him from lunging at her.

"I'm the sick one? You're the one who was mentally placing Marissa's head on my body every time we fucked–"

"Shut the fuck up, Jess–"

"No! You were batshit crazy and obsessed over her. And now she's dead. Deal with it."

Trey stood there for a moment, idly, looking at Jess with deep loathing and hatred. _Just concentrate on hating Jess and think about her words later... better yet, don't think_, he thought, _And Jesus fucking Christ do not cry, you pussy._

Jess watched him with a scowl. "You're pathetic. How did I ever have sex with such a goddamn loser? Marissa never even--"

Trey shoved Jess out of the apartment door before she could finish her sentence, the shock from the sudden action acting as a silencer. Once she had been tossed out, he closed his eyes and started to count to ten.

He got to three and then punched the door the remaining 7 times. There. Ten. Hell, eleven. Twelve. He kept punching. No blood yet. Why not? He wanted his hand to bleed, goddammit, because it seemed appropriate enough, to bleed in mourning, but nothing came of it except a now severely sore hand. He felt his body weight collapse underneath him and he crumpled to the floor in front of the door, feeling pathetic and meek and disorientated enough to make him wonder if he'd just gone on some drug trip and imagined all of that. But just for a moment because when the second moment came up, he decided to cry and he didn't give a shit if someone heard him. He could beat their ass later, anyway.

* * *

He sat beside her gravestone, leaning his head against the cold, concrete stone, feeling it scrape into his forehead but not giving a damn. Some dirt was finding its way onto his jeans - again, not like he gave a damn - but not that much. Like everything in this twisted town, the surface always looked great. Constantly trimmed grass in the damn _graveyard._ Great looking grass; dead bodies. It was fitting. Like... Marissa, almost. In the brief time he'd known her– _loved_ her, and fuck him if he wanted to admit it– he'd began to learn her logistics, the person that she was. She was hot. Hell, she was beautiful and that was not a word Trey threw around. But on the inside, she was deeply, deeply ... well, fucked up. And then he laughed at himself, just then, for being so ridiculous, for sitting here at her gravestone at 4:47 in the morning like he had for the last two hours, thinking up cheesy metaphors about Newport and Marissa and goddamn _grass. _He kept laughing and eventually bumped his head back on the gravestone, smacking the back of his head hard. He winced. Karma, or whatever that 'what goes around comes around' bullshit. Laugh in a graveyard; get injured. _Great._

He rubbed the spot where his bullet wound was through his shirt and attempted the ignore his now throbbing head. It was just endlessly twisted that Marissa was dead and the concept did not seem to get any easier. Four years since she'd been dead. The fourth time that he'd been sitting in this spot, talking to the rotting corpse buried underneath him. Maybe he was just trying to relieve guilt. Maybe he was trying to 'make peace with himself' or whatever the hell people went on about. He had always regretted attacking Marissa. No, it wasn't something he woke up everyday and was burdened with and it didn't follow him around like a shadow. But the thought still came, unbidden, and cloudedhis mind every once in a while. He'd always figured that one day he would make it right. When he was a man, and she was a woman, and he wasn't such a fuck-up, didn't have such a temper... he'd apologize and do it right. Make amends. She was dead now and this would never happen. So yeah, maybe he was selfish and talking to the air around her grave was his attempt to ease a guilty conscience. So was this about her or was it about him?

He doesn't know.

* * *

He remembers trying to figure out her death. Simply knowing that it was a car accident had not been enough. He wanted to know everything. He did more research toward that than he ever had at anything relating school. He read all the articles he could, both in the newspaper and the internet. As much as he hated Jess, he grilled her too. The truth slowly ascended from the haze. It was her exboyfriend, some Kevin Volchok, who had been the vehicle to crash into her. He had been drunk Ryan was driving her vehicle and she was going to go off to Greece with her Dad. Everyone was okay, except for Marissa who suffered head injuries and severe internal damage. She didn't die on the spot, but a few minutes later with Ryan.

It still didn't seem real. It was just words on paper. So impersonal.

He remembers the obsessive, violent thoughts he'd had about beating that Kevin guy to death. They burned brightly, constantly.

He remembers hearing about him going to jail and thinking that wasn't good enough, that only death would do.

He remembers knowing he wasn't any better, that what he had done to Marissa was unforgivable too... but more forgivable than taking her life away.

He remembers getting stoned for the first time in two years and then every day for a week after that.

He remembers flushing his drugs down the toilet because he really did not deserve the privilege of escaping reality.

* * *

He saw long legs in tight jeans. He saw boots, black, with dangerously sharp heels. The long, boot clad legs kept walking and finally he figured out that they were coming over to him. It's nearly 5 AM and he's shocked because no one hung around in graveyards around this time. Trey finally brought himself to follow the legs up, all the way to curvy little hips and a thin waist. His eyes kept going up. Dark hair with a slight wave in it. Dark eye make up. She had a cigarette between her fingers and she took a drag before looking over him at the exact same why he had done with her.

Trey sat there silently.

When she was done, she took another drag - and sweet _Jesus,_ he craved a smoke so fucking bad - and said in a bored yet slightly suspicious voice, "Who the hell are you?"

He figured she was about 20, give or take.

"Trey," he answered and only after his answer did he realize that it was probably a stupid move because if she knew Marissa, there was a chance she'd know who he was, what he did, and would go blab to Ryan. She didn't look like the blabbing type though. Just the apathetic type.

He was judging someone he'd seen for about ten seconds. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Why are you here?" She's being awfully demanding for someone he didn't know and for someone who didn't know him. "_Now?_"

"I'm an old friend," he replied, hoping it'd cover both questions. "You?"

She plopped down on the grass across from him, something he found impressive. Girls that looked like her were usually high maintenance. The girl looked directly at him, which was vaguely unnerving.

"I'm her sister."

She didn't use past tense and once again, that impressed Trey. This girl was very straight forward. At the same time, he was confused. Marissa had a sister? He didn't know if the girl was lying but he figured the chances were highly unlikely because one- who lied about that? And two- she did look strikingly like Marissa. They had so many of the same features. Same long legs, passion for fashion that clearly showed. In the time that he'd known Marissa though, she had always seemed light and carefree and... natural. Her sister – what was her name? – looked bad-ass chic, jaded. He found himself wondering if she could hold her liquor too.

"You look familiar," she said and he blanched.

"I don't know you," he said quickly, attempting to dissuade her. It _was_ true though. He didn't know her.

"You remind me of this guy. Ryan. You know him?"

Trey shook his head swiftly, his palms beginning to itch with sweat. "No."

"Okay." She took another drag and then tapped the cigarette lightly, watching the ashes disappear into the grass.

He looked longingly at her cigarette, feeling the familiar ache for nicotine flare up. She noticed.

"Want a drag?" she offered, lazily extending her arm and the cigarette.

He nodded, taking the cigarette and taking a long puff. He savored it, savored the feeling and then exhaled. Bliss. He passed the girl her cigarette back, noticing that she was watching him thoughtfully.

"My name's Kaitlin," she said after a moment of silence. "And I'm totally stoned. So I came here."

He had no idea how being stoned and coming here were connected. He had no idea why she chose to share that with him. Her eyes were red, come to think of it... but at the same time, she seemed totally cool, like the drugs had barely gotten to her. He just nodded, wishing he was stoned. "Cool."

"Not cool," she corrected sharply. "How is mourning the dead ever cool? God, you ghoul." She dropped her cigarette, smothering the tip in the ground.

"I meant... your name," he amended clumsily, feeling his throat get a little scratchy. "Not the mourning thing. It sucks."

"Yeah, it does," Kaitlin agreed with a nod. "Try everyone you know for like, months. It gets so tiring."

He blinked.

"I'm fucking self-centered. I know," she said and her eyes dropped down.

"No... you're not. Well, you are, but it's cool. We all gotta take care of ourselves first, right?" It was surreal, to be sitting here with Marissa Cooper's fucking sister but it felt so nice in a strange kind of way. Like he had a little piece of Marissa with him. He realized, in a flash, that's what everyone probably thought. Kaitlin, for all her resemblance to the former-stunning dead girl, was probably everyone's cheap replacement. Everything she'd ever done had probably been compared to Marissa. She probably got sick of trying, grew the attitude and took up the addictions. Addictions were fun, he would know. Kaitlin was the fuck-up of the family, he could instantly tell and he could, of course, relate.

He mentally high-fived himself for being so intuitive. Maybe it was the strange tranquility of the night that was enabling him this power. Maybe it was the way the creases that she shouldn't have had on her face screamed, "don't make me out to be Marissa". Maybe he was simply experiencing some dementia.

"Right," Kaitlin agreed and Trey could tell by the way she looked at him that he had gained her respect with that comment. Score.

"So you from around here?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, perhaps a little too much. She crossed her ankles and he found himself looking at those vixen boots again.

"Used to be," he said after a moment and it was only a half truth– a half lie. "But now I'm in Vegas."

"So you just like... came here to sit at my sister's grave?" She raised her eyebrows. "At five in the morning?"

"Yeah. I guess." He hoped she wouldn't press. She doesn't.

"What's Vegas like?" is Kaitlin's next question and he looked up from her boots to see her looking intently at him. He thought about it. He felt compelled to give her a good, honest answer.

"It's... easy to disappear," he answered finally and she seemed to accept that answer. Even like it. Maybe she wanted to disappear too.

His turn to ask a question. "I know you were her sister and all, but what are you doing here at 5? Alone?"

She tweaked a cold blade of grass in between her fingers while answering. "I was partying. Just walking home now. Decided to cut through the grave yard. Eric didn't want to go through the graveyard, so he ditched."

"Shitty boyfriend," Trey commented and it was his subtle way of finding out if she had one or not. It didn't explicitly matter but he felt curious and this situation was already fucked up enough as it was. Why not go all out?

"Eric's not my boyfriend," she told him flatly.

"Oh."

"He's a slut."

"That sucks."

"For him. If he gets syphilis or chlamydia or something, I mean."

"You should go home," Trey said abruptly and he could instantly tell he pissed Kaitlin off.

"Don't tell me what to do," Kaitlin snapped. "I'll do whatever the hell I want to do."

He held up his hands defensively. "Just a suggestion. But I'm leaving now."

"You're driving back to Vegas? _Now?_" Her tone is incredulous and it's not hard to see that she thought the idea was absolutely ridiculous.

"Yeah," he answered easily and pulled himself up from the ground. His jeans are kind of dirty and his head still kind of hurts but that's okay. "Later."

"Wait." She stepped toward him. "Take me with you."

Now _that_ was a shocker and his eyes widened and his hands flung out as he backed out. "What the fuck? You've known me for about ten minutes. Look, I'm not taking you to Vegas!"

"Why not?" she demanded impatiently. "I made up my mind. I want to go. Either way, I'll find a way to get there. This is just convenient."

He wasn't sold. He thought she was crazy. "No fuckin' way."

"I'll keep you company during the drive," Kaitlin said, attempting to tempt him.

"I don't care."

"I'll pay you," she offered and she reached into her purse, pulled out a wallet and plucked a few bills. "Two hundred just to sit in your shitty, dingy truck to someplace you're already headed anyway."

The cash is tempting. And to be honest, he didn't really mind Kaitlin. It felt kind of wrong, though, but it also felt like Marissa. Anything that helped fill up that deep, empty pit with Marissa's name on it was welcome. Plus, Kaitlin was hot.

"Fine," he said, giving up. "Let's go."

It occurred to him that she didn't have anything on her except what she was wearing and whatever was in that purse of hers. He wondered if she was gonna make him stop by the house. He hoped not. After driving for a few minutes, he came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to and he's very grateful. She doesn't say anything and once again, he's grateful because it gives him space to think. Surreal. That was the word. This was nothing if not surreal. The past three times he'd done this, no one had ever caught him, except maybe the security at the grave yard. And here he was, going to Vegas with the girl he'd endlessly obsessed over's little sister. Not that she was so little... He doesn't know where Kaitlin will stay when she gets to Vegas, how long she'll stay for and if anyone will notice if she's gone and what they'll do if they do notice. It's not up to him to be concerned but he can't help but be. He's not as devil-may-care as he used to be, a sure sign of maturity. Maturity drove him crazy sometimes. He loved having youth as an excuse to dick around as much as he wanted.

Glancing over at Kaitlin, who looked even more like Marissa with the reflection of dawn, another thought occurred to him.

"Why do you want to go to Vegas so bad?" he inquired, turning a sharp left.

"I want to disappear."

He doesn't ask for details, she doesn't elaborate.

The rest of the way there they barely said a word, just watched idly as the sun fully rises and chases away the remainder of the inky night sky. He drove, she stared straight ahead and they both anticipated and dreaded what would happen when they got there.


	2. part two: combust

**Author's Note:** And part two! Enjoy :D It takes place... oh, a few hours after part two? I renamed the fic slightly. Instead of 'Burn the Axis of the World' it is now 'Burning Axis'. Yayyyy.

* * *

"Where are you staying?" Trey asked Kaitlin once they'd officially driven into the city. He was obscenely tired by now, seeing as he'd been up for nearly 24 hours and the only thing keeping him awake was the strange high one got from sleep deprivation.

"With you," she answered in that tone that held no room for objections. "At least, for a little bit."

He didn't protest. There's no point. He was too tired to go drop her off somewhere else, too tired to fight with her and above all, he was unwilling to give up this little piece of Marissa right now. It calmed him. Then again, that could have been the sleep deprivation too. He probably wasn't making a very good impression on Kaitlin. As put together as she looked, he was the exact opposite. His eyes were bloodshot, hers were fine. His clothes dirty, hers impeccable. His hair mussed. Hers a little tangled, but that was all. Even the way she was sitting exuded poise and grace. As bad-ass as she was, it appeared that she'd never truly shake her upbringing.

"How old are you, Kait?" Both the question and the nickname slip out of his mind and off his tongue before he can process either of them.

She raises her eyebrows at 'Kait' but answered anyway, shifting the position of her purse. "I'm nineteen. And you're... what, twenty... three?" she guessed, face scrunching in concentration.

"Twenty-six." Fuck, he was getting old.

"Anything else?"

"No," he said, and then changed his mind. "Yeah. When are you going back?"

"Hopefully never."

* * *

When they get up to his apartment, he instantly wished that he was the type to clean. It wasn't totally gross but not clean by any stretch of imagination. Beer cans, random change, food wrappers and boxes, some clothes, some CDs, etc, etc. His apartment is a one room, one bathroom with a decent kitchen, living room and some other random space. Definitely not big but surprisingly, not all that cramped. It was home to him. Obviously.

"I'll sleep on the couch," he offered and the idea of sleep is so fucking amazing right now. He also thought he was being pretty damn gallant. He was proud of himself. "You take my bed. In the bedroom."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "We'll share the bed. It's not like I have cooties or some kind of sleeping kicking syndrome. Unless you do."

"No... just..."

"I won't make a move on you, I swear," she teased, even though her tease was in that casual, bored tone of hers and she smirked.

"Damn."

Too bleary to think anymore, he stumbled into the bedroom like he was drunk and crashed on the bed. Kaitlin came in a few seconds later and he watched her strip down to a tight tank top that was from underneath her hoodie and low rising panties. The rest of her clothes (hoodie, jeans, boots, socks) sat on floor. She looked at him. He continued to look at her, trying to ward off the very wrong mental images his mind was receiving.

"Morning," she told him, because it wasn't quite appropriate for a good night seeing as it wasn't night and it wasn't really good, and then crawled into bed beside him. He'd be totally aroused if he could be anything but sleepy but he can't so he just closed his eyes and let the world slip away, one flimsy black particle at a time.

* * *

When Trey woke up, she was already out of the bed. He briefly wondered if Kaitlin had up and left and despite himself, he hoped that wasn't the case. He glanced at the digital alarm clock to his side. It was 5:44 PM. Shit. He looked at the floor near the door and her clothes were gone. Pulling himself up from his bed, he untangled himself from the blanket and looked at the clothes he'd been wearing for about two days now. Muttering, he peeled them off and tossed on a new out fit that looked more or less the same. He didn't know if Kaitlin was there. If she wasn't it was very, very possible he'd never talk to her again.

He opened the door.

She was standing near the open fridge, pawing through it for food.

Was he disappointed? Or relieved?

"Hey, sleeping beauty," she said without looking up from the fridge. She appeared to be very concentrated.

"What time did you get up?" he asked, running a hand through his unkempt hair while slowly making his way over to her, trying to shake off the stringy cobwebs of sleep.

"Like... one?" she guessed, finally shutting the fridge. "You have no fucking food."

"I wasn't expecting the company," he replied dryly, wondering how she managed to function without a lot of sleep. The idea was foreign to him.

"Bullshit. You have literally no food. Some milk, some orange juice, beer, some lemons – drinking games much? – and other scraps of things. How do you live?"

"So I haven't bought food recently, give me a break. What did you eat earlier then?"

"I saw a muffin on the counter."

"That was my muffin."

"By the way, cool bean-bag chair. What are you, twelve?"

"Did I ask you to come here?"

"Whatever," she said brusquely. "I'm ordering pizza. Anchovies cool?"

"Anchovies are sick," he told her, making a face.

"Anchovies are the _best_," she protested.

"No anchovies," he insisted with a hard look.

"Fine," she relented, heaving a big, exaggerated sigh. She dug out her Sidekick – he snorted at that, of course she had one – and stared at the screen for a minute, blinking. He watched her, intrigued.

"Kaitlin?" he prompted, raising his eyebrows.

"No missed calls," she said and the way she said it made him feel kind of bad. Like she had expected calls, expected someone to miss her and notice her absence but there was no one. "Why do I expect different? I moved out. It's not like they have tabs on me. Never mind. What's the number of a pizza place here?"

He gave her the number, the address and in about forty-five minutes the pizza came. Kaitlin brought it over to the small living room area and set it on the coffee table. Trey went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. On second thought, he grabbed another beer for her and brought it over to him.

"Ooh, you do know I'm underage, right?" she teased, popping the top off the beer.

"You gonna tell anyone?"

"Nope."

"Good. Because I like to corrupt."He didn't really like to corrupt, but it usually happened anyway. Maybe it'd work out though. He fucked over Ryan and Ryan got himself a poolhouse. Kaitlin already had a poolhouse, but maybe he could do something for her too in some way. "Cheers." They clinked glasses and each took a drink.

Three pieces of pizza each and a few beers later, Kaitlin and Trey were both considerably buzzed. Not hammered, because as seasoned drinkers, it wasn't enough to completely intoxicate them, but they drunk enough. He remembered getting drunk with Marissa. That hadn't ended well. But here was Kaitlin, who was more of a rebel, a loner and completely unattached. Just like him.

Kaitlin finished off her third beer, setting the empty bottle to the side and looking up at Trey with her big green eyes wide and fuck, Trey wondered if Kaitlin knew exactly what effect that look must have on people. Probably, he figured, because Kaitlin seemed to know the world, know herself, and know what she was capable of.

"Trey," she said, practically _purred_ and nudged herself closer to him, subtlety.

"Yeah?" he asked, and his voice sounded course and prickly in comparison to the saccharine tone she'd adopted.

"Why did you want to disappear so bad? What did you do that made you want to blend in?" Her tone shifted from the sweet one to a minx-like one. Or maybe a mix. Like someone who would seduce you, love you and then swiftly kill you. It scared the shit out of him but at the same time... it was enticing. Maybe he was just attracted to danger. He didn't actually register his words for a moment, but he could place the blame on the booze.

"Doesn't matter," he answered shortly, shaking his head.

"Yes, it does," she insisted with a little pout.

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

And just as Trey was beginning to think this was getting ridiculous, she leaned over toward him and said, "Kiss me."

And Trey, who was powerless before his hormones, especially when inebriated, did. Even if sober there would be no way he would be able to resist. There was not an inch of him that didn't want her and that became very apparent when he stiffened. Encouraged, she continued kissing him, taking the beer bottle from his hand and clumsily placing it on the table.

Even though he was here and making out with Kaitlin who was _so fucking hot_ he couldn't stop thinking about Marissa and he absolutely detested himself for it. But this was different. Very different. No beach, no coke... and Kaitlin _wanted_ him. Trey revisited that night was Marissa often and he thought about the feeling of his lips crushing hers, his hands probing places that didn't want to be touched by him. He still remembered how she cried, and screamed that she didn't want him to _even though she had been such a fucking tease_ and how she smacked him in the end with that fucking _log_ and his body was now going fast and hard. He wanted to do this, he wanted to be _in_ her and he doesn't know if 'her' means Kaitlin or the sick little fantasy of Marissa that still lingered.

Clothes were coming off now and their body heat was riling him up even more and he couldn't bring himself to look at her face. His hands kept going, his eyes were closed and he kept expecting some sort of resistance but met none. It didn't add up because Marissa was dating Ryan and they weren't on the beach and Marissa had told him _no_ but here they were. He kept going, waiting for her to push him off at any moment but she didn't. Instead, she produced a condom from her near by purse without having to move an inch.

He pushed into Kaitlin, but to him, it was Marissa who cried out.

When they finished, they each laid there quietly and Trey let himself open his eyes. He glanced down at Kaitlin. He had just had sex with Kaitlin. Not Marissa, like he let himself imagine, but Marissa's little sister. He felt like an asshole, but he was used to feeling like an asshole. He'd fucked the replacement. He wondered if she knew what she was thinking.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. He looked down. She looked up. Their eyes met and he looked away quickly. She kept staring.

Finally, he got up and pulled his discarded pants back up.

She slid her clothes back on too and instead of watching her, he just stared at his hands.

"You knew her," Kaitlin said, and it was the first real thing either of them said before 'kiss me'.

Trey blinked. It was slow. The world blurred and then went back into focus. Kaitlin was still standing there, staring at him. Her face was hard, her hair was messy and her words were not the first thing he expected, post-sex.

"Who?" he asked dumbly.

"My sister. You knew her. And not just stupid old buddies, either. So don't even bother fucking lying to me."

Jesus _Christ._ She was saying this _now?_

"Fine," he agreed. "Yeah. I knew her. So what?"

"You're Ryan's brother."

Her words were like a punch in the stomach. She knew. She had always known. So why would she wait until now to tell him?

"Yeah." His hair was greasy. He needed a shower. He needed to extricate himself from this conversation.

"And you tried to _rape _her. Marissa told me all about it, a few years ago. Ryan's brother who had attacked her on the beach. And she shot you after you nearly killed Ryan. I know all about it. I'm not a fucking idiot."

He just sat there, still looking at his hands. There was no way to defend himself. Everything she said was true.

"And you _killed_ her!"

That got his attention. "I wasn't in that vehicle," Trey told Kaitlin in a shocked tone. "That wasn't me."

"No, it wasn't. But if you hadn't fucking tried to rape her, she wouldn't have shot you! She wouldn't have been expelled from her school and had to go to that gross public high school! She wouldn't have met _Johnny_." He heard a catch in her voice when she said that name. Who the fuck was Johnny? "Or Volchok. And he wouldn't have run her over! It was your fault!"

He could not take this. Could not take the magnitude of her words and all they meant. Could not handle the grief flooding from the old scab she'd picked out. Could not handle the guilt that was mixing in with the flood, like an additional tide coming in, designed just to take you under and drown.

"Why?" he thundered, getting up from his seat. "Why would you just tell me _now?_ Why not before?"

For that she had no answer. "You had sex with me," she said instead.

"Yeah! I did! What, do you think I raped _you?_ I didn't hear any fucking complaints on your side!"

Tears began to pool up in her eyes. "No. But you weren't having sex with me. You were having sex with _her_."

As fast as his temper rose, it dropped down again and it felt oddly like those few years ago when he first heard Marissa was dead. Everything just... stopped. And he felt sick and violent and had so much loathe. But it wasn't for Kaitlin. It was for himself. Would it ever stop chasing him around? Would she ever stop haunting him?

"I loved her," he said finally and he was too much of a pussy to look up at Kaitlin.

"God!" Kaitlin yelled, in a strangled sob. "Of fucking course you did! Everyone did! Everyone that ever knew her was completely bat shit in love with her! Because she was so fucking _perfect_ and Marissa could do no wrong, no matter how much she fucked up, no matter how many pills she swallowed or things she stole, she was still _perfect_ and loved, and you, even you ..." She stopped. She physically could not speak anymore. The tears had come, and sobs kept crashing through and her body was shaking. It got to the point where she was crying so violently she was making no sound except for shaky gasps of breath. She sank down to the floor and he was crying now too because he didn't know how to fix this. He was the fuck up. He attacked Marissa. He apparently effectively killed her that day. He had sex with her _underage_ sister and the list went on and on and on. And he couldn't make one thing on that list better. He couldn't take any of it back. Just add on to it.

He wiped underneath his eyes, trying to rid of any and all evidence that he had, in fact, been crying. He could have the small little fragments of his pride, right? "Kaitlin," he said, and hard as he tried for a steady tone, it was shaky and weak. "Why did you come here?"

"I don't know!" she cried out and her face was streaked with an unfortunate mix of eyeliner and mascara. "Because I'm stupid. Because I thought it'd solve something. _Anything._"

"And?"

"Nothing."

He wished he could feel sorry about that fact but he couldn't. He had his own stuff to dwell over. He was selfish. That's how it had always been. He wasn't sorry, but he told her he was anyway. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

The world fell back onto the appropriate axis again. There was a shift in the air, a movement in the atmosphere and they both breathed in. Maybe they could start over.

There was a silence.

"I should go home."

"Probably," he agreed, but neither made a move.

"Do you hate me?" she asked quietly and she looked small and vulnerable. Gone were the vixen eyes and enter the murky green ones that ached for some reassurance. He couldn't tell it was an act.

"No."

Another silence.

"Do you want to leave?" he asked after a moment.

"No," she answered, mirroring the tone he had previously assumed. "I want to stay."

Trey would spend his entire life trying to do the right thing but failing miserably. He spent his life falling in with the wrong crowd, falling love with the wrong girl and eventually just _falling_ into this stupid pit that he couldn't quite climb out of. Life did not work in his favor. Evidently, it did not work in Kaitlin's either. Each had a sibling that overshadowed them in every sense of the matter. They were everything that Kaitlin and Trey were not. And even if he tried... once again, he would fail miserably. Maybe he could change that. Maybe he could kick life in the ass right back and scream, "Do not fuck with me anymore." Life was not easy and somedays he wondered why he bothered to live one. _Because he had to_. Because he had to try, at least, because there was always that small but stubborn part of his mind that said, 'don't give up at any cost. Don't be a chicken shit. Do this, Trey, and give it your all.' A survival instinct, something that kept him alive and kept him _breathing_. But it didn't evoke feeling. That was up to him. And that would require some sort of faith. As a rule, he didn't like to believe in faith. Look where faith had led him. _Nowhere_. So he simply ceased to exercise it. But maybe... just maybe... with that would come the possibility of doing something right. So when would he seize it? When was the right moment and what was the right thing to do? He had to make up his mind and he had to make it up quick but he wanted to do this _right._

He breathed out and told Kaitlin in a small but strong voice, "So stay."

He didn't know if it was the right moment.

He didn't know if it was the right thing to do.

She nodded and said, "Okay."

But he'd find out.


End file.
